Chapter 7: A Visit to the Queen

  The basketball's rough texture stings my palms as it ricochets off my chest. If you're gonna shoot hoops, at least aim for, you know, the actual hoop.

  "Sorry about that!" I fsh the pyer an understanding smile and pass the ball back.

  "You're good, man."

  The gym reeks of sweat and desperation. The heat wraps around me like a sauna—maybe it's the temperature, or maybe it's that creepy message still crawling under my skin from the café. Either way, I scan the court looking for a distraction.

  That's when I spot someone else who's on fire.

  "You can't guard me!" Matthew's voice echoes across the hardwood as he dunks on yet another victim. There's practically a line forming—mbs to the sughter.

  "Nobody can guard you?" I raise an eyebrow and smirk, pulling my hands from my pockets just in time to snag another stray basketball.

  Matthew grins. "I was off my game st time."

  Excuses, excuses.

  I take a step back and let the ball fly from the corner. It cngs off the rim with a metallic thunk, bouncing away to showcase my mediocre shooting.

  "You could've just shot from the middle," Matthew says, scooping up the rebound and tossing it behind his back with a flourish. The handful of guys watching throw out appreciative "oohs."

  "I like a challenge." I position myself under the basket, crouching low to meet his eyes as he brings the ball up court. His handles are smooth—crossovers so quick they blur. No wonder he's been skipping css. He’s dead-set on a schorship, maybe even the NBA someday. I'm rooting for him.

  He drives. I time it perfectly.

  "Denied!" My hand swats the ball from his grip mid-jump, sending it bouncing overhead.

  Sorry, Matthew, but no matter how good you get, you're never dunking on me.

  "You had to come cool me off, huh?" He shakes his head, half-annoyed, half-impressed.

  We leave the ball where it nded and drift toward center court.

  "Mastery begins with humility," I say, barely suppressing a ugh at his deadpan expression.

  "Learn how to shoot first, then talk about mastery."

  I shrug. Truth is, I could probably take him in a shootout. My drives might not match his, but I'm deadly from range.

  "Alright everyone, we're gonna run a couple games today, but first—warm-ups!" Yashiro's voice booms across the gym, way too enthusiastic for a substitute teacher. Then again, he's not really a PE teacher—just fills in when the real one's gone. Not that I'd compin. He's easily the best teacher in this school.

  "Find a partner, then combine your pair with another group."

  Matthew and I don't even need to exchange a gnce. We're already standing side by side. But I notice his attention drifting—toward Naomi and Trisha across the gym.

  "What's the deal?" I ask.

  "She's still pissed from this morning."

  "Really? I thought you two were just messing around."

  He shrugs. "We were. I don't know why she's being all extra about it."

  "And you?" I lower my voice. "You don't still have a thing for Trisha, do you?"

  "No, I—" He hesitates, which is answer enough.

  "Just don't screw this up," I say firmly. "Stop fawning over Trisha. You've got a perfectly good girl who actually cares about you. Remember King Midas? Wanted everything he touched to turn to gold. Look where that got him."

  Matthew sighs. "Thanks, Socrates."

  Before I can respond, two familiar voices approach.

  "Hi, Mikey!" Trisha's tone drips with manufactured sweetness as she sidles up beside me.

  "I told you not to call me that."

  "Awww, but it sounds so cute."

  "I wouldn't mind if it was coming from literally anyone else."

  Her smile sharpens, something darker flickering beneath the pyful facade. Then she pouts dramatically, full lower lip jutting out. "What's with all the hate, Mike?"

  "He's just pissed about the fight in the locker room," Matthew chimes in. He exchanges a knowing grin with Naomi, and they both giggle.

  Not helping, Matthew.

  "Ooooh, look at him protecting his girl." Naomi turns to Matthew, hands on her hips. "Would you do that for me?"

  Matthew's smile turns awkward. "Y-yeah, of course."

  What an idiot.

  "Whaaaat!?" Trisha's voice spikes. "That wasn't even my fault! It was Miss Perfect who punched me."

  I smirk. "She's got a mean hook, doesn't she?"

  Trisha's grumble is cut short by Yashiro's voice booming across the gym.

  "Alright, everyone—switch up your partners within your groups of four!"

  Normally I'd stick with Matthew, but he's clearly distracted, already gravitating toward Naomi.

  "I've posted stretches and exercises on the board," Yashiro continues. "Do your best to complete them all. And I don't want to see any cheating."

  Before I can protest, Trisha loops her arm through mine.

  "Looks like we're partners," she purrs. "I'll hold your feet for sit-ups."

  I'm just going to ignore the innuendo. Besides, I needed to talk to Trisha anyway.

  "Sooo… your birthday's tomorrow." She peers up at me, her pink eyes almost glowing against her matching pink tracksuit.

  "Yeah. Surprised you remembered. Haven't celebrated with you since junior high."

  Her expression flickers—just for a second—before the mask returns. "Yeah, well… I got you something."

  She gnces around, checking if Yashiro's watching. Then, without warning, she sweeps my legs out from under me.

  My back hits the mat with a thud.

  She's on top of me in an instant, leaning down like she's about to kiss me.

  "Don't fight it, Micheal," she whispers. "We both know you're single. Everyone else would kill to be with me. Why are you any different?"

  I grab her by the armpits and push her back, holding her at arm's length. A few students nearby gnce over—some in awe, some in jealousy. Trisha's ego is next-level. I don't think she's physically capable of accepting rejection.

  "Trisha. Get. Off."

  I flip her over. Her head meets the mat with a dull thump. I stand, tugging my sleeves back into pce.

  She sighs—dreamily. "That was… so good, Micheal. Give me more…"

  Ugh. Everything out of her mouth sounds sexual.

  She's panting harder than necessary, sprawled on the mat with her blonde hair fanned across her face. She makes a show of fixing it, slow and deliberate.

  "Keep dreaming, Trisha. I'm not under your thumb like the rest of this school."

  Her expression hardens. The sweetness vanishes. "I could change that."

  She examines her nails with exaggerated interest, her voice dropping into something colder. "What do you even see in that skeeze, anyway? Why would you want a girl who follows you around like a dog?"

  If anything, I'm the one on a leash.

  "You'd be worse," I say ftly. "If you had your way, there'd be a literal colr around my neck."

  I cross my arms. She lets out a ugh—sharp, almost manic—and sps my arm.

  "OMG, staaawp!"

  She didn't deny it.

  "Speaking of…" I don't need to finish. Trisha already knows where this is going.

  Her smile vanishes. "You found out about that pathetic excuse of a human, didn't you?"

  Her tone is ice. No hesitation. No shame.

  "Didn't know you'd stoop low enough to bully a shy freshman."

  She rolls her eyes. "Oh, whatever. She's a dog, and she knows it."

  The cruelty in her voice is casual, like she's discussing the current news.

  "Trisha, you have to leave her alone." My voice drops. "I saw that video. She's clearly unstable. If she snaps—or worse, does something to herself—that's on you."

  An ugly sneer twists her features. "She should kill herself. A worthless, good-for-nothing bitch like her should just die."

  My expression doesn't change. She either genuinely believes it, or she's forcing herself to. Either way, it's disturbing.

  "This is why I could never fall for someone like you." My voice is steady, cold. "You think I want to 'rule this school' with you? Get it through your head, Trisha—this isn't Mean Girls. Your daddy's influence might keep you afloat here, but in the real world? You wouldn't st five minutes."

  "Shut up!" Her voice cracks. "You don't know anything about me!"

  I lean closer, dropping my voice to a near-whisper. "I think you're just an insecure little girl pying queen because Daddy never gave you the attention you wanted. Did he, Trisha?"

  The words nd like a physical blow. It's not just her father's neglect, either—it's her stepmother, who married into money with zero interest in being a parent. Trisha's dad dealt with her rebellion by throwing money at the problem. Bigger allowance, fewer rules. He let her build her own little fantasy kingdom where she could pretend she mattered.

  "That's why you bully Ello," I continue. "To prop up your broken ego. And don't even get me started on Luna. You're jealous—"

  Yashiro appears out of nowhere, catching the fury twisting Trisha's face. In a fsh, she smooths it away, giggling and waving at him like nothing happened.

  "Sorry, teach! Micheal was looking where he wasn't supposed to…"

  She shoots me a venomous gre.

  Yashiro raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, uh… please refrain from physical contact with other students, Trisha."

  She nods sweetly. Too sweetly. Then she turns back to me and reaches out, her fingertips grazing my still-stinging cheek.

  "You really make me antsy when you're mad, Micheal." Her voice drops to a sultry whisper. "It's sexy…"

  I catch her wrist and move her hand away. "Nice try."

  "Trisha!" Yashiro's voice cuts through. "This is PE, not Sex Ed. Get your hands off Micheal and get them on the floor."

  Trisha smirks, undeterred. "Since you've been so good to me today, how about we make a deal?"

  A deal. Of course. At least it's better than another speech.

  I lie back on the mat, preparing for sit-ups. Trisha crouches at my feet, holding my shoes in pce to keep me steady.

  "Dealing with the devil?" I say dryly. "You want my soul too?"

  She grins, watching me with unsettling intensity as I start the reps. "As tempting as that sounds, there's more to you I'd want than just that… Anyway. You want Luna back on the volleyball team, right? I can make it happen. But you'd have to do something for me."

  That's how deals work. Otherwise, it's just a favor.

  "And Ello?" I ask between sit-ups. "Are you going to leave her alone?"

  She sps my leg, ughing. "Are you crazy? I'm not giving up my dog!"

  If anyone's crazy, it's her.

  I let out a sigh and close my eyes. "What do you want?"

  She squeals—actually squeals—and rests her chin on my knee as I come up from the st sit-up. Her face is inches from mine.

  "Come over to my pce for your birthday."

  Her voice drips with suggestion. Bold. Very bold.

  I pause, holding her gaze. She's serious.

  "No," I say carefully. "I'll come over—but not tomorrow. I'm not sure when. One of these days. I promise."

  She tilts her head, thinking it over. Then she smiles and pats my knee, standing. "It's a deal!"

  She extends her hand. I push myself to my feet and shake it reluctantly.

  "Yeah… just don't try anything crazy."

  She twirls a strand of blonde hair around her finger, then lets her hand trail down my arm. "We'll have to see what happens, Micheal. A cute boy and a hot girl, alone in a bedroom…"

  I've been spped more times in this css than in most of my street fights.

  Finally, I pull away, relieved to have an excuse to escape.

  "I'll see you Sunday."

  Confusion fshes across Trisha's face as I turn to leave. She hadn't noticed Yashiro waving me over from across the gym.

  I jog toward him. "What's up, Kenneth?"

  His smile drops instantly. "Stop… calling me by my first name."

  Yashiro's one of the coolest adults I know. Doesn't act like a teacher, doesn't treat us like kids. He's helped me out with more than just schoolwork. I'm grateful for him.

  "You should head to the principal's office."

  I furrow my brow. "Why?"

  His expression softens—sympathy mixed with resignation. "It's Luna's father. Looks like he's feeling paternal again."

  I groan. Every time Esperanza decides to py dad, it derails everything.

  "Thanks, Kenneth."

  I give him a quick wave as I head for the exit.

  "Yeah… bye," he mutters.